


Scorched Earth

by NerdyAdjacent



Series: Dark Days [12]
Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Blood, Brainwashing, Flashbacks, Gunshot Wounds, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slow Build, Survival, Trauma, Violence, ambrollins - Freeform, lots of Dean/Seth bickering, spy AU, spy fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-27
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-08-11 08:45:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7884478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NerdyAdjacent/pseuds/NerdyAdjacent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He remembered the feel of the earth beneath his bare feet and noted somewhere in the panicked stricken recesses of his mind that it was cold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Teaser/prologue

**Author's Note:**

> SUPER SHORT TEASER
> 
> Things are a-brewing in my brain. Let's see where this goes.

He remembered the feel of the earth beneath his bare feet and noted somewhere in the panicked stricken recesses of his mind that it was cold.

He remembered the fence line in the distance, grey latticed steel looming like a giant to defeat before there was freedom.

He remembered the sound of the alarm blaring from the compound, disorienting his already hazy brain in the dim light of whatever time of day this was.

He remembered the pain in his body, the very same pain he'd felt for months now creeping up and threatening to destroy his will to move.

He remembered the weight of the man at his side, hanging almost limp from his shoulder from exhaustion and blood loss.

He remembered the look of betrayal on his brother's face when they left him there with no way out and no hope of escape.

“W-we just left him, Dean.”

He remembered ignoring that statement over and over, even when it was his own voice screaming it in his head.

He remembered the trees.

Then he remembered nothing.


	2. Chapter 2

_Cincinnati, OH_   
_November, 2004_   
_Name: Dean Ambrose_   
_Age: 18_   
_Occupation: Bare Knuckle Brawler_

“You little fucking PUNK! You were supposed to take a fucking dive!”

Dean smiled into his disturbingly bloody towel, careful not to let it be seen because the last thing he needs is for Big Eddie to have him jumped in the alley for being a smartass. Granted, he was positive it wouldn't be a grin that did that for him, it'd be the fact he just cost Eddie and Eddie's employer a lot of money for being stubborn. “That other asshole was fighting dirty! I wasn't giving him nothin’.” 

It was a hard fight. His opponent liked to bite, hit below the belt, scratch at his eyes, and kick at his knees. Good thing he could dish it out just as well as take it. The problem wasn't the fact he'd won, it's the fact that he was supposed to lose. For his young age, he'd already made a name for himself in these illegal fights as this crazy, unstable guy who'd claw your eyes out as quick as look at you. It made him almost unbeatable. Eddie had instructed him prior to this gig that his opponent needed a push and he was doing this for a friend of the boss who managed the now unconscious man stupid enough to step up to him. Ambrose was to take a fall. But there were two things problematic with this situation:

Number one, Eddie didn't own him.

Number two, Dean Ambrose doesn't take fucking dives for anyone. 

“You fucked up, Ambrose!” Eddie snapped as he stepped up to him. All Dean had to do was stand up to his full height and Eddie stopped mid stride. Even at 18, Dean Ambrose was 6’4”, 217 pounds of muscle. And he was pissed. Eddie knew better than to fuck with the man they called The Street Dog. 

“That's it, I'm done.” He said and grabbed his bag and jacket. Eddie grabbed his arm to turn him around and he immediately yanked it free and growled. “Don't you ever do that again.”

“You think I'm the one you have to worry about?” Countered Eddie. “The boss won't take this well. You cost them a lot of money because of your fucking stubbornness.”

“I ain't afraid of this mysterious boss of yours.” 

“You should be.”

Dean shook his head and shouldered his bag before damn near running out of the building and into the street. Fucking Eddie. 

Out on the dark street, he took a deep lungful of city air and breathed it out in a puff of white. It was cold tonight, so he huddled further into his jacket, ignoring the ache in his shoulder. He'd definitely need to ice it when he got back to his shitty apartment, but right now he was content to just walk in the brisk night air. 

He liked the city at night. It was a twinkling mass of lights and black streets that seemed to dull all the harsh edges of the steel, brick, and mortar around him. It didn't matter that he had just been in one hell of a fist fight, that he'd had to pop his shoulder back into socket more than once, that the cut above it eye was probably still seeping blood, that he'd definitely have an ugly purple shiner, or that his entire body would hate him in the morning because in the dark, no one really looked at you that closely. It was easy to pretend that life wasn't a shitty train of fight after fight, beating people up for the money he desperately needed. It was easy to hide.

Maybe that's why he didn't hear the two men approach until they had already grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him hard against the brick wall of the alley. The stiff punch to the gut silenced any protests that might have left his mouth by driving all the air from his lungs. The steel pipe at his throat didn't help matters either.

“You should have done what you were told tonight, Ambrose.” Said the one on his left, a tall guy with more muscles than brains. “The Boss made it very clear what you were supposed to do.”

Dean tried to push them off him, but they both easily had 50 pounds on him and he wasn't going anywhere with that pipe against his windpipe. 

The one on his right produced a switchblade and made a point to press it into the sensitive skin below his eye just hard enough for the threat to be very, very real. “You cost them a lot of money, so The Boss wants you to pay up.”

“I ain't paying shit!” Dean spat, though the force he intended to put behind it was muted by the steel pressing against his throat. 

“That's what I thought.” Came a third, decidedly female voice from somewhere behind the two goons holding him against the brick digging into his back. He hadn't seen her approach, but suddenly there she was. She was far shorter than the three men, but definitely had an air of ruthlessness about her that sent a shiver down Dean's spine, even with that purple hair of hers. “I wasn't giving you a choice, Ambrose.”

“Who the fuck-” the rest of his words died in his mouth with a strangled yelp when the pipe was pushed further into his throat. 

“We _told_ you to take the fall.” She said, unnervingly calm for the angry look on her face. “You didn't listen. Now, I'll just have to take the payment out in kind.”

Dean lifted his chin in defiance because shit if he was going to give them the satisfaction of seeing him scared. She gave him an amused smirk at his bravado, but instructed her muscle to take his right eye. 

Flashing red and blue lights stopped them mere centimeters from doing just that. He'd never been so happy to see the cops in his life, especially when they dropped the pipe and knife and took off. The woman looked back at Dean as he slid down the wall to the grimy cement, “This isn't over!”

The officer approached him, carefully resting his hand on his gun. Dean pointed down the end of the alley in the direction The Boss and he two muscle bound maniacs had ran. “They went that way, officer!”

But the cop didn't make a move to follow. “Dean Ambrose?”

Dean looked up at him from the ground. How had he known his name? “Who wants to know?”

Without another word, the officer grabbed him by the arm and lifted him to his feet before pushing his chest into the brick. He pulled Dean's arms behind his back and quickly cuffed them. “What the fuck! I didn't do anything! Go get them! They're the ones who jumped _me_!” 

\---

_Davenport, IA_   
_November, 2004_   
_Name: Seth Rollins_   
_Age: 18_   
_Occupation: Thief_

This score was going to be big, he just knew it, he could practically taste it. He'd been casing the place for a month now, noting patterns, alarms and precautions, staff movements, and so on. All he had to do was get in, grab the piece, and get it to his buyer for a huge payday. 

Stealing art wasn't usually his deal, but how could he pass up an opportunity like this? It wasn't like he was stealing from a museum, but the mansion he was looking at might as well have been. At any rate, it should be an easy in and out job. 

He knew from watching the house for the last few weeks that security was pretty lax whenever there was a football game on. So he waited until the start of the second half to make his move. Skillfully, he climbed the fence and dropped down onto the grass without even breaking a sweat. Lifting his hood and adjusting his black bandana to obscure his face from the security cameras he knew no one was watching, he crouched low and made his way to the back door. It was keycard entry, but he'd already lifted one from one of the security guards he'd “bumped into” at the grocery store, so he swiped the piece of plastic through the reader and waited for the lock to click open. 

Inside, it was up a set of stairs through what once was the servant's passage that would most definitely be free of any security that might make a surprise appearance. It was nothing to get to the study once on the second floor. 

However, he wasn't expecting the amount of artwork hanging on the walls. The buyer had only specified one portrait of a man sitting in a chair. He'd assured him he wouldn't be able to miss it. That, it would appear, was a lie because there were three paintings that fit that description. 

“Fuck! Which one?” He whispered to himself in a panic. With little time to guess, he settled on taking all three. He'd get the buyer to pay for those too or risk not getting anything. The box cutter in his pocket made quick work of cutting the canvas from the ornate frames and he rolled them carefully before stuffing them into the tube at his back. 

A quick glance at his watch told him the guards shifts would be changing soon and they would be making rounds. Going back the way he'd come, he took the stairs down and out the door with every intention of heading back for the fence. That, apparently, was not what was about to happen. 

As soon as he got outside, he was met with three police officers all pointing guns at his chest. He put his hands up without a fight.

“Seth Rollins?”

How did they know his name?

\---

_Atlanta, GA_   
_November, 2004_   
_Name: Roman Reigns_   
_Age: 19_   
_Occupation: College Student/Football star, Georgia Tech_

“Nice game out there, Reigns.”

Roman ignored the sarcasm in his coach's voice. It was most definitely not a nice game, and it was his fault. He'd fucked up and they lost one of the most important match ups of the year. The team was disappointed, having already made that clear by actively avoiding talking to him in the locker room. The fans had also practically booed him off the field. He wasn't shocked at the disappointed look on his coach's face, but it didn't sting any less. “I'm sorry, coach.”

“Look, I know you're here on scholarship, but if this continues I'm going to have to cut you from the team.”

That hit Roman like a punch in the gut. Sure, he liked playing football, and if it weren't for his talent at the game he'd have never gotten a full ride to college, but it wasn't why he was here. His parents couldn't afford college, an opportunity like this the only reason he was even able to pursue a degree in the first place. If he were to get cut from the team, he'd lose his scholarship and have to leave. There was no way he was going back to Florida a failure to work in the market with his dad. He loved his father and appreciated how he'd busted his ass to make sure his sons had food on the table, but that life wasn't for him. 

“You have to give me another shot, coach.” He practically pleaded. “I had papers due and exams. I was just a little off my game.”

“Reigns, I couldn't care less about your academic work.” His coach said. “I only care about winning games. That's what you're here for, to win games. Get your head in order and fix whatever this hangup you're working through is or you're gone.”

All he could do was nod and try not to punch this man in the face when he patted him none too gently on the back. He was proud that he at least managed to wait until he was out of the locker room before flipping him off. 

He purposefully took a long time to get his uniform off, making sure to dilly-dally until most of the stadium had emptied out. Last thing he needed was to have things thrown at him by angry fans. He'd be far happier just getting changed and heading back to his dorm, but decided on a shower. Maybe that would clear his mind. He took longer than usual there, too. 

Once out, he dried himself off and wrapped the scratchy towel around his waist with every intention of just putting his street clothes back on and finding a nice hole to crawl into to try and forget this day. He in no way was expecting two uniformed cops to be waiting for him at his locker. 

“Roman Reigns?”

Confused, he looked from one officer to the other. “Yeah?”

“Get dressed. You're coming with us.”

“What for?” He said, probably harsher than he should have.

“Just do it, or we'll take you in like that.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Subjects 1 and 3 have escaped, sir.” 

There was a long pause, an almost practiced silence falling over the control room. There was no panic in his voice when he requested the video footage, and a nearly imperceptible note of surprise as he watched subject 3 kill two guards with his bare hands and shoulder subject 1 and run. 

“How did they get past the dogs? The fence?”

There was no answer to be given except a truthful shrug and a flip of a switch to a new video. “This is the last surveillance footage we have. They were smart, cut out CCTV as soon as they could.”

A grin spread slowly across his face because of course they were smart, that's why they were among his top three subjects. He would not have included them if they weren't. No, had they not shown the type of promise he knew they had, he'd have had them put down with the rest of them. 

The footage showed them running down the holding cell area and he didn't have to guess at what they would be after. Subject 2 was pleading with them as they tried to find a way to get him free with no luck. Then they ducked suddenly as gunshots rang out. Rushed apologies turned into enraged curses with promises of retribution as they made their decision and ran. 

They left him. 

That made subject number 2 angry, vulnerable, malleable. Perfect.

“Get subject number two ready.” He said, an air of amusement in his voice as the plans knitted together in his mind. “We're moving ahead.”

“But, Mr. Helmsley, what of the other two?”

“Send out a team.” He instructed. “Kill them both.”

\---

_Undisclosed Location_  
_November, 2004_

“Hey! I have rights you know!”

Dean realized pretty damn quickly that those guys that picked him up weren't cops, that much was obvious from how they carried themselves, how they didn't even attempt to tell him why he was being arrested, and the fact that they never read him his rights. They didn't even take him to a police station. If he had to guess, he'd say it was some sort of storage locker but he couldn't really tell. Fuck, he didn't even know if he was still in Ohio. They put a hood over his head and drove for hours before dragging him to where he was now and sitting him in a chair with the hood still obscuring his vision. They never spoke to him, they didn't hurt him, and they left him alone. Bastards. 

“I want a lawyer!”

“Would you shut the fuck up!” Another voice said to his left. He didn't even know there was anyone else here. 

“You're being nothing but obnoxious.” Was the deep rumble to his right. Two others. 

“When the fuck did you two get here?”

“Same time as you, I'd imagine.” Came from the left. 

“You two fuckers are silent assholes, aren't you?”

The man to his right chuckled but it was obvious he didn't find any of this funny. “And you never shut up. You've been doing enough screaming for all of us.”

He shifted in the uncomfortable seat. “Whatever, man. I am not just sitting here with a goddamn bag over my head, waiting for whatever is going to happen.”

It wasn't the first time he'd been in handcuffs and it probably wouldn't be the last. He needed something he could use to pick the lock. They hadn't checked his pockets, so he managed to get his wallet free and get to the paper clip he had holding the seams together. Thank god he hadn't sprung for a new one just yet. He unfolded it and got to work. Admittedly, he wasn't the best at lock picking, especially behind his back and with a hood over his head, but at least he was being proactive about getting out.

“What the hell are you doing?” Asked the voice to his left and Dean realized that it was a nasally rasp that would grate on his nerves every time this person spoke.

He rolled his eyes behind the fabric over his head and really wished they could see just how annoyed he was they had even asked him that question. “Trying to get these cuffs off.”

“Do you have some sort of pick?” 

“If a bent paper clip counts, then yes.”

“Can you shimmy towards me?”

“Why?”

“Just fucking do it, asshole.”

Though he made it very clear through the exasperated sigh that he wasn't happy about getting help, he did as was asked and scooted the chair to his left until his arm connected with the others. “Shift so I can get to your hands.” The man instructed and he complied with another displeased sound. 

“What makes you think you can do it and I can't?” Dean asked with more than a little attitude in his voice. 

“It's what I do for a living.” Was the answer mere seconds before the cuffs fell free from his wrist. That took him all of about twenty seconds. Maybe this guy was useful. 

Dean immediately pulled the bag from his head just as the other man got his own cuffs off and followed suit. They stared each other down for a few long, tense moments, each sizing up the other. This other guy was about as tall as Dean, probably close to the same age with a weird blonde streak cutting down one side of his longer dark hair pulled into a low bun, wearing all black in a sleek sort of way, and a scowl like he couldn't believe he was subject to look at the bruised and beaten face in front of him. 

“What happened to you?” He asked, crossing his arms over his chest and giving Dean a look from head to toe, making him slightly self conscious about his ratty jeans and goodwill leather jacket. “Get in a losing fight?”

Dean knew he was referring to the bruises and cuts on his face, but he lifted his chin a bit, not willing to let this prissy asshole get to him. “I'll have you know, I won that fight! Besides, I'm not going to take appearance advice from someone who only dyes half his hair.”

Again they stared each other down. Dean began shifting from foot to foot, ready to fight if it came to it but not willing to be the one to throw the first punch...at least, not yet. 

“Hey!” They both turned away from each other reluctantly to look at the man still cuffed to the chair. “Will you two idiots cool it and get me loose, please?”

Dean looked back at the blonde streaked man and smirked. “He said please.”

“Unlike you.” Was the clipped reply as he made his way over to the cuffed man and made quick work of releasing him. 

“I don't recall asking for help in the first place.”

The third man stood and pulled the bag off his head and blinked a few times at the pair of sulking individuals. Dean noted that he too was about their height and age, with at least 30 pounds of muscle on the other two, and a mane of black hair cascading down his back that gave him an almost wild air about him. However, Dean did recognize him. “You're Roman Reigns.”

“How'd you know that?” Asked the half blonde, an angry pout again on his face. 

“He plays for Georgia Tech.” He clarified. “I lost a lot of money on that game last week, man.”

“You're going to blame me for that?” Roman spat with a quirk of his eyebrow. “Now?”

“I mean, it was a lot of money.”

“Hey!” Spat the half blonde, stepping between the two of them, but making sure to face Dean once he felt they were far enough apart. “You know his name, how about you give us yours? Or should I just call you Lunatic since that's what you're acting like.”

Dean had no problem stepping up to this asshole. He'd fought bigger and nastier than him not 24 hours ago. “I ain't a Lunatic! And I ain't stupid! Your name first, or should I call you Architect since you want to run this whole show so badly!”

It was Roman's turn to step between the two of them. “Quit fighting! We're in this together, whatever the fuck this is! Just give me your goddamn names!”

He looked at the half blonde first, waiting expectantly for an answer. With tense shoulders and a deliberate glare at Dean, he said, “Seth.”

Then the large man shifted his gaze to Dean. He was hesitant, but the big man was right. Whatever this was, they were in it together and there was no point in constantly bickering when that energy could be better utilized elsewhere. “I'm Dean.”

“Good.” Said Roman, taking a step back once he was satisfied neither on of them would punch the other. “Now, does anyone know where we are?”

It was the first time any of them had really looked around, more concerned with bickering than anything else. Dean was pretty proud about his damn near spot on assumption that they were in a storage locker that could only be 10 feet square. The steel, corrugated walls were painted a sickly grey and lifted to well above their heads. The ceiling was the same, with a single row of fluorescent lights to break up the monotony of the room. 

“Well, this is homey.” Dean commented.

“I don't see a door.” Added Seth.

“Well, we got in here somehow.” Noted Roman.

 _“Gentleman.”_ a voice broke through the space, an English accent definitely there in the inflection. He almost sounded put out, exasperated, like it was a burden that they even existed. _“Congratulations on passing the first test. Escaping the cuffs.”_

Dean snorted a laugh and was immediately elbowed by Seth. Roman's hand on his arm was the only thing keeping him from punching him in the face.

The voice continued. _“In order for our partnership to move forward, there is one more test you will need to pass.”_

“What test?” Roman asked into the space, none of them really sure where the speakers were.

_“Escape the room”_

“That's it?” Asked Seth, raising a skeptical eyebrow at both Roman and Dean. “Find me a fucking door and we're golden.”

Dean shook his head. “What are you? Some sort of locksmith?”

“What are you?” Seth countered. “Some sort of street urchin?”

Dean was about to lunge for him when the sudden realization that ‘escape the room’ was going to be a far bigger priority than laying Seth out for being a tool. Water began inching its way across the floor, already a good half an inch deep before Dean was able to formulate a proper curse to really describe the situation. 

“Jesus Christ!” Roman cried out. “Start looking for a way out!”

He didn't have to tell them twice. Each man spread out to a separate wall and began feeling for any sort of escape. 

“I got nothing over here!” Seth yelled, already sloshing through the knee high water to the other wall. “What the fuck is going on!?”

“I think it's pretty goddamn obvious they're trying to kill us, asshat!” Dean shouted.

“No, they're testing us.” Roman corrected. “They want to see if we can work as a team! My coach used to do this all the time. Put players in a no win situation and see if they can climb out of it.”

“But you guys don't win!” Dean yelled back, sloshing over to Seth with the water now at his waist. 

“That's beside the point!”

“Look for bubbles!” Dean yelled at them, fed up with this. They were all treading water by this point with the ceiling looming above them ominously. But none of them were going to give up. 

“Here!” Seth yelled at them and both Dean and Roman swam to him. On the far side of the room, there was a small line of bubbles reaching the surface from the corner seam of the room. 

“It's probably a weak spot in the welding.” Said Roman, breathless from the exertion of keeping himself above water. 

Dean looked at the pair of them and, realizing someone was going to have to go see the source, took a deep breath and dove under. He had to maneuver around Seth's kicking feet, but it wasn't long before he found the source of the bubbles. They were coming directly from the corner of the room where the steel corner met the cement floor. They could probably force it wider, maybe even wide enough to escape through, but it would have to be all three of them. 

When he surfaced, his head connected with the ceiling with a loud _thunk_. Both Seth and Roman were looking at him with panic obviously beginning to set in. There was only about six inches of space above the waterline now and if they didn't make a move they would all drown. He had no intention of going out like this. “I found the source.” He said, sputtering as water filled his mouth. “We can probably force it open.”

“ _Probably!?_ ” Seth shot back at him. 

“You got any better ideas?” Roman snapped, the panic evident. 

Not waiting for an answer, Dean instructed them to take a deep breath because it would probably be their last one. They did as they were told and swam with him to the hole. Using hand signals, he told them to kick at it together, then held up one finger, then two, then three and they kicked. The hold opened wider, but not enough to make a difference. They did it again. And again. And again. 

Air was getting critical and they all knew if they couldn't get this open, they were dead men. With one last push, the all kicked and Seth's foot went through. Roman and Dean were immediately on it, pulling at the steel with everything they had until it finally gave way and the wall opened. All three men tumbled out of the room head over feet and onto more cement until they were lying on the ground, soaking wet, and gasping for air. 

Dean managed to land on top of Seth, his full weight pressing down on the others back. Seth didn't take to kindly to this and pushed him off. It wasn't like Dean did it on purpose, but Seth was acting like he had. 

Before he could make some comment to the two toned dick about being grateful they were alive, a slow clap rang out in the space around them. All three looked up at the older man standing over them with a smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye. “Nicely done.” He said, that English accent matching the voice from the speakers. “I think you three will be perfect.”

“Perfect?” Roman breathed, still out of breath but obviously pissed off. “ _Perfect!?_ who the fuck are you?”

“My name if William Regal, and I'd like to talk to you about Shield.”

“You could have just asked.” Seethed Dean, pulling himself to his feet. “This is kidnapping. Those fake cops work for you?”

“I'm afraid they do.” Regal answered with a nod. “And I apologize for the theatrics, but I've had my eye on you three for a long time.”

“Why?” Asked Seth. “We're nothing special.”

“Oh the contrary!” Regal began circling them, looking them over one by one. “Seth Rollins, master thief with a Mensa level IQ and a knack for people skills. Dean Ambrose, bare knuckle fighter, street smart, loud and fearless, testing off the charts before you dropped out of high school. Roman Reigns, full scholarship to Georgia Tech to play football, advanced skills in chemistry and technology. However, that buyer of yours, Seth, already had plans of stiffing you and turning you over to the authorities. Dean, you were about 20 seconds away from losing your right eye. And Roman, your coach had already put the paperwork in to cut you from the team.”

Dean snorted a laugh. “So what are you saying?”

“I'm offering you three a better option.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I realize that Shield could be seen as a Marvel thing, but that's obviously not how I'm going to use it.


	4. Chapter 4

“Seth! Jesus! Don't you fucking die on me!” Dean breathed, panic and adrenaline the only thing moving him forward with the half conscious man hanging off his shoulder. “We gotta keep going! Stay awake or I'm slapping you!”

“Easy for you to s-say.” Seth slurred, the effects of blood loss taking their toll. “You weren't f-fucking shot, you asshole!”

Dean smiled despite their situation. At least Seth still had enough warewithal to call him an asshole. That was good, keep him mad, keep him talking, keep him awake until he could get to a phone or some way to call for an extraction. 

“W-we have to go back, Dean.” Seth said for what felt like the hundredth time. “We can't just leave him there!”

“We can't go back, Seth.” He stated, the final word. It was a decision he didn't want to make, one he'd never forgive himself for, but they had no choice. They were no good to him dead. At least now they had a fighting chance to get help. And they couldn't go back even if they wanted to. Seth was injured, he could hear the dogs and men already after them, and they would in all likelihood be put down with a bullet to the head when they caught up...if they were lucky. 

Seth cried out when Dean helped him maneuver over a fallen tree trunk and sat him down for a brief second. He had to see the wound but Seth batted his hand away. “Just leave me and go.”

“No, no fucking way.” He countered, a stern look already telling his partner that there would be no argument on the matter even though he knew Seth would try. 

“I'm just going to slow you down.” 

Dean grinned, Seth frowned. 

“What the fuck are you smiling about?”

“You, you dumb fuck.” He said and hoisted Seth back to his feet. “I lost one brother today, I ain't giving up another.”

\---

_Shield Training Course_  
_July, 2006_

“C’mon, Sethie poo!” Dean called over his shoulder, having already made it to the top of the first obstacle wall, ready to jump down and sprint for the next. Of course, he couldn't do that without taunting his partner just a little. “I thought you were better at this?”

Seth's hand reached the top and Dean held out an arm to assist him. It was ardently ignored as he pulled himself up. “Don't call me sethie poo!”

“Would ‘dipshit’ be a better name to call you?” 

Seth lurched out a fist to punch him, but it was easily dodged, throwing him off balance and forcing Dean to grab him by his tactical vest to steady him. Seth predictably pushed him away. 

Dean liked getting under Seth's skin. He was like the little brother he never wanted and he reacted in the best ways. Sometimes he thought it was too easy, but, hey, worth it when that frown hit the corners of his mouth and his forehead scrunched up just so and his eyes narrowed dangerously like he might just punch Dean in the face. It wouldn't be the first time, or the last, if Seth decided to connect his fist to his jaw. Every bloody lip or black eye was worth it when Seth finally snapped and retaliated. Dean liked pushing him to that point. 

Roman, on the other hand, was up and over the wall while the two of them bickered. “You two just going to sit there?”

If there was one thing he loved more than pushing Seth's buttons, it was beating Roman in training. Just because he was some fancy football star two years ago didn't mean he had the athletic advantage. On that, he and Seth both agreed. 

With one last look at each other, Dean and Seth both jumped down and followed suit, trying to beat each other just as much as catch up to Roman. They were right on his tail, but the big dog was deceptively fast and made it to the second obstacle first, dropping to the ground to crawl through mud under the barbed wire with Dean right behind him and Seth bringing up the rear. 

“Ah, fuck!” Roman cried out and again Dean smirked because when would he ever learn to cut his hair. A brief glance over and he could see the Samoan struggling with untangling his mane the from one of the barbs. 

This gave Dean the advantage and he powered forward shouting back something along the lines of “Sucker!”

“Don't let me catch up to you, Ambrose!” He heard as the reply - threat?- but ignored him because Seth had already taken the lead from that small distraction. 

“Goddammit, Seth!” 

Once out of the barbed wire, it was a quarter mile sprint to log hurdles. If Roman was deceptively fast, Seth was the fucking flash. He was well out in front when Dean pulled himself to his feet out of the wire pit. He knew he'd have to make up time here because Seth could jump those like a damn gazelle. Maybe it was his former life as a thief, but he always reminded Dean of a ninja. 

But Dean was a firm believer in the concept of _work smarter, not harder_ and bypassed jumping over the logs, opting to roll under them instead. He managed to catch up to Seth just as he was about to jump the last hurdle and rolled himself into the back of his legs, causing him to fall backwards onto his ass, now rightfully pissed off. “Dean! You son of a -” 

He couldn't finish the sentence as Roman jumped over him and scooted under the hurdle right behind Dean. Dean was out in front, barely scooting out of the way with a laugh as Roman reached for him - probably to get his hands on him for that ‘sucker’ comment. Oh he was sure Roman would pay him back for that, but not today. He was well on his way to the last obstacle and his best one: firing range. The object was to hit six bells at varying distances with half a clip. That meant there was absolutely no room for error - miss once and you're done. And he was very, very good at it.

The Sig Sauer P226 9mm. handgun was in pieces when he ran up to it, requiring them to reassemble before shooting. By the time Dean had the stock slipped into the body, Roman was next to him, followed extremely closely by Seth. Once assembled, he took a deep breath and aimed.

One shot.

_DING_

Two.

_DING_

Roman was firing now too, _DING, DING, DING_ in quick succession. 

Dean knew better than to rush this. He aimed and fired round three and four. 

_DING, DING_

“GODDAMNIT!” 

Roman must have missed, he was out. Seth was firing now, but he was well behind. Another breath, another shot, another hit. His last shot connected and the buzzer sounded. He turned to both of them and smiled triumphantly, a cocky swagger shifting his shoulders into a confidant sort of dance. 

“Fuck!” Seth spat at him, pissed and out of breath. 

“Try harder next time, fellas!” 

The speakers sprang to life and William Regal's voice broke through. He didn't sound happy and Dean knew why. _”That was unacceptable! Ambrose, you cheated on the hurdles! Rollins, learn how to accept help! Reigns, your aim need fucking work!”_

They all looked at each other, accepting the reprimand but not really feeling sorry for it. 

__”Do it again! As a team this time!”__


	5. Chapter 5

“They just left you.” He said, the sneer slowly creeping across his face as he regarded the man now strapped to the gurney. He had to admire the bravado of Roman Reigns, but he knew it was all a show, a front to make himself seem less scared and hurt and betrayed than he really was. But he could see the tremble in his clenched fists, he could see the glassy tone in those stormy eyes. It wouldn't take much of a nudge in the right direction for his plan to come together. “They left you here to suffer.”

Grey eyes closed and his head shook from side to side as he tried to convince himself more than anyone that his partners, his _brothers_ wouldn't just do this on purpose. 

“But they did, Reigns!” He added, face now mere inches from his ear so he could get the full effect of what he was about to say. “They _hate_ you. There's no other explanation. They see you as the weak link, the chink in the armor. You are nothing to them but expendable.”

“No!” Reigns shouted, tugging wildly now at the straps holding him still. “They'll come back for me! And when they do, you're a dead man!”

A laugh escaped his throat. “How can they come back for you when they're already dead?”

\---

_Moscow, Russia_  
_December, 2009_  
_Codename: Lunatic_  
_Codename: Architect_  
_Codename: Big Dog_

Whose bright idea was it to go to Moscow in December? He'd really like to know so he could punch that individual right in the face. He was freezing his ass off sitting here with nothing but winter fatigues and a sniper rifle, waiting for the target to approach. At least Seth and Roman were able to wear thicker clothing and sit in a heated cafe. He could see them through the sniper scope, Roman pretending to be a waiter and Seth sitting in a booth just waiting for the informant Rusev to enter. 

This is why he hated playing eye in the sky and he knew this was probably punishment for cheating...again. Granted, if he was caught every time he cheated, he'd have been canned ages ago. Sometimes he wondered if Regal tried to test the way he thought around problems rather than through them, but their CO was a sneaky bastard. 

As it were, he was tasked with being the eyes of his two partners on the ground, finding a hiding spot on top of a snow covered roof in the middle of Moscow with a sniper rifle and a few powerbars. Roman seemed to slip into the role of waiter pretty easily, even if he barely knew enough Russian to save his life. He'd said he had to bus tables back in high to help with providing for his family. To Dean, that sounded nice...the idea of family. He'd never had one before. Roman had said that he and Seth were his family now, to which Seth snorted a laugh and Roman clocked him. That was neither here nor there at this point. 

Looking through the scope, he could see Roman busying himself with cleaning the same mug over and over. It must be a slow night. Shifting the scope over, Seth just looked annoyed and put out - which was pretty much his resting face anyway. Dean smiled and tapped the earpiece. “Architect, if you don't lighten up, you're going to explode.”

He could see Seth frown through the scope and his hand shift to non to secretly flip Dean off, to which Dean only replied with a laugh. 

“Any sign, Lunatic?” He heard Roman buzz through. He knew exactly what he meant. 

“None. It's quiet except for the two cats humping away in the alley below me.” 

“So you should feel right at home.” Seth teased and Dean could see the crooked smile creep onto his face.

“You really wanna test someone with a sniper rifle, Sethie Poo?” 

Seth's stupid little smile was gone and he rolled his eyes. “Like you could even hit me if you wanted to.”

“I'm a better shot than, say, you.” 

“Hey! Knock it off.” Roman cut in with what could only be described as a dad voice. That always made the pair of them shut up. Dean just grinned wide at their dynamic. Roman always playing the mediator between Seth and himself. But man it was fun getting under Seth's skin.

They weren't here for that, though. Their informant was late. Very late, in fact. “What's the plan here?” He asked, shifting on the roof to adjust his arm that had fallen asleep. “I'm freezing my ass off.”

He could see Seth look at his watch. “I say we give it ten more minutes and call him a no show.”

“CO isn't going to be happy.” Roman said. “We need that info.”

Dean sighed, the puff of white surrounding his face. “We can't make this dude show, Big Dog. Besides, who has ever heard of this Authority anyway?”

Again he shifted the scope around to check the street. “Wait a minute. There he is.”

“You sure?” Seth buzzed through the earpiece. 

“Big burly Bulgarian guy? Yeah, I'm fairly positive. Plus, I read the file.”

Roman snorted a laugh. “For once.”

“He's got some muscle with him.” Dean said and adjusted the scopes focus. “Two of them. Ones heading around back the other is sticking to the sidewalk, probably to cover exits. He should be coming in now. Communications going dark.” 

He tapped the earpiece to ears only and watched through the scope as Rusev entered the cafe. He was a lot bigger than the file lead him to believe with probably a good fifty pounds of muscle on Roman. 

“Mr. Black?” He asked Seth, using his alias in thickly accented English. Seth attempted to stand to shake hands but Rusev was already sitting across from him. “I want to make this brief.”

Seth put on that million dollar smile, Dean even able to see that stupid little gap between his teeth with the scope, and spoke. “Well, I'm here. It'll be as brief as you make it.”

“Good.” said the Bulgarian. 

Roman approached the table as asked in barely passable Russian if Rusev would like anything. The look the man gave him could have probably set any lesser man on fire, but Roman took it in stride and moved away with the fakest smile and insincere apologies. Granted, he looked back at them with glare to match the big Bulgarians - which made Dean chuckle to himself. 

Rusev leaned in to whisper to Seth once he was satisfied that Roman had moved away completely. “Mr. Black, I want a guarantee that your organization will make good on their promise.”

Seth nodded a little, “You have my assurance that you and your wife will get citizenship and safe passage to the US.” Seth pulled out a newspaper from his jacket and handed it to Rusev. “Passports and social security cards.”

“What about the money?” Rusev asked, pocketing the newspaper. “I was promised money.”

“And I was promised information.” Said Seth. “Info first.”

The Bulgarian looked annoyed, but also pulled something from his jacket. Dean could see Roman tense up and relax when he simply pulled out a white envelope and passed it to Seth. “Now my money!”

Seth stuffed the envelope in his jacket and made to stand up, the deal complete. “It will be wired to you once we've verified this is correct and useful.”

Rusev was up to, grabbing Seth's arm. Roman reached under the counter, probably for the Sig he had taped there earlier, and Dean readied a shot. Seth just stared at the large fingers encircling his forearm, then looked up at Rusev with a look that clearly read “you really want to test me?”

Rusev, apparently, did. “I want my money now or I shoot you and take my info back.”

“That would be unwise, Rusev.” Seth said with a cool smirk. He pulled his arm free and smoothed out his sleeve. “You will get your money.”

Dean smiled to himself. Only Seth Rollins could pull that off. 

Movement on the street caught his attention and he shifted the scope. Several other men approached the cafe and started talking to the muscle already standing guard. They were obviously carrying weapons, not even remotely trying to hide it. There were some rushed hand signals and they spread out around the building. 

“Fuck!” Dean spat and tapped the earpiece. “Architect, Big Dog, more hostiles approaching.”

He could see Roman stiffen up and immediately look towards the door. Dean could clearly make out three in the front, and there could be about the same at the back exit. Seth was still playing it cool. Bastard. He'd given no indication that he was aware of the ambush now waiting for them, even offering Rusev a confident smile to leave with. 

From deans vantage point, he could easily take out some from the front, but they were already entering the cafe. “Shit!” 

Rusev pulled a gun and grabbed Seth around the neck. Roman had his weapons out now and was aiming between Rusev and the men flooding in. “Drop it!”

Roman hesitated. Rusev cocked the hammer back on his very impressive looking 357 magnum revolver. Roman dropped his weapon.

“It's never easy, is it?” Dean said to himself and aimed his rifle at Rusev. The way he was holding Seth didn't exactly make for a clean shot and he'd never hear the end of it if he killed his partner by accident. Plus, he was fairly sure Rollins would haunt his ass for eternity. “Architect, move your head to your left.”

He could see Seth's eyes widen, but he managed to tilt his head as much to the left as he could manage. It still wasn't good enough. “Fuck, I can't get a clean shot.”

“Now, I'm walking out of here with Mr. Black.” Rusev said to Roman. “I will let him go when my money is sent.”

“You're gonna hate me, Architect.” Dean said and lined up the shot to hit Rusev in the knee. “Just hit him quick.”

Dean fired and the shot went through the glass of the cafe and landed. Rusev shouted out in pain and Seth immediately elbowed him in the nose. That opened up the shot for Dean who fired again. This time the bullet hit him right between the eyes. There was a short firefight that broke out, but was over pretty quickly with four hostiles dead and no injuries to the Shield agents. 

“Another job well done boys.” Dean said with a smile already beginning to pack up his gear.


	6. Chapter 6

Somehow, someway, they managed to evade those chasing them for now. He knew they wouldn't stop until both of them were either captured or dead because the information they both carried was enough to damn the entire Authority. They were now public enemy number one. The search teams would increase the longer they were missing, the guns would get bigger, there'd be more dogs, more men, and less of a chance either would survive this. The fact that they'd made it this far was a miracle.

The forest had started to thin out to a more rocky terrain by the time night was beginning to fall, which was a blessing and a curse. On one hand, they'd be less likely to track them by their footprints in the fading light of day. On the other, they were more exposed with the lack of tree coverage. Plus, with Seth barely able to drag his feet under him made this far slower than Dean would like. 

“Just a little further.” He said, breathless, trying to reassure himself just as much as his fading partner. 

He could hear Seth snort a laugh, the one that clearly called Dean out on his bullshit. 

“You don't know.” He responded to that. “We could be near...something.”

“W-were just one step closer to death, Dean.” Seth forced out and he knew, just knew, Seth was giving up. “We might as well stop and let them catch us.”

He forced a smile, as much for his own benefit as Seth's. “You're just being melodramatic.”

Another snorted laugh, “I admire your optimism, you know that?”

“Don't try to bait me with compliments when you're bleeding everywhere.”

“Fine.” Seth snapped. “What's your master plan, dickhead?”

“I hear water.” He answered, barely catching Seth as he tripped on an uneven foothold. “I'm headed for that. Then, we'll hunker down and figure out our next move.”

He pulled Seth along until his suspicions were proven correct and they came across a small stream. It was clear and cool and had some coverage from the rocky path they had just come from. It was as good a place as any so he sat Seth as gently as he could against a tree and bid him stay while he went to scout the area, maybe find something they could use as a weapon. 

“What am I going to do? Run singing through the hills Von Trapp style?”

“The fact that you just made a Sound of Music reference has me worried about your mental state.”

There was that million dollar grin and Dean felt his face flush like it had so many times when they were younger. “The fact that you recognized it has me worried about yours.”

There was a brief moment where they did nothing but look at each other. There was no hate in their eyes, none of that banter - playful or otherwise - form either of them. It was concern for one another, worry, a disquieting heedfulness for the safety of each other. 

“You be careful.” Seth said somberly, like he wouldn't be able to handle it if Dean never came back. 

All Dean could do at the unusual show of concern was nod and turn away before his own emotions got the better of him and he did something stupid like kiss the bastard at the absolute worst time. 

\---  
 _Shield Headquarters_  
 _Briefing Room_  
 _May 2011_

“Dean!”

His head shot up and he was looking into the very perturbed eyes of William Regal. 

“Pay attention!”

“Sorry, sir.” Was the only real answer he could give that wouldn't land him a day in solitary for insubordination. It wasn't like the guards down there didn't know him, and we're pretty good about sneaking him junk food and a magazine or two, but still, it wasn't where he wanted to spend his Saturday.

Regal was watching him carefully, probably making sure he would, in fact, do as instructed. And he did, ignoring the exasperated looks from Roman and Seth sitting in the desks on either side of him. Once satisfied, their Commanding Officer continued prattling on about their next mission. Dean managed to get the gist, the important bullet points that would carry him through the mission like always, but his mind was somewhere else entirely.

His mind was firmly zeroed in on Seth. He could see him out of the corner of his eye jotting down notes on whatever Regal was going on about that Dean would steal later when he needed them. He was hunched over his composition book with a stupid No.2 pencil in his hand, scribbling wildly, his tongue poking out every few seconds to wet his lip. Seth did this thing when he was thinking where he would drum his free hand on his leg in random beats that only he could hear while he chewed on the eraser - he'd had to have swallowed at least two of the rubber nibs in the time Dean had known him. His hair was always so neat when they met with Regal, a far cry from the bed head rat's nest that was his own shorter hair. No, Seth's was always pulled back into a tidy bun, but every so often a stray piece of that stupid blonde streak would come free and Seth would spend the rest of his time fretting over it and slipping it behind his ear over and over again. Dean could watch him do that for hours. 

He'd realized he might not hate the son of a bitch about a year ago. And maybe he never actually disliked him, but there was a definite butting of heads between the two of them. He wondered if Seth felt the same? At the very least, he wondered if Seth's constant ribbing and obvious annoyance whenever Dean was in his presence was a show - maybe for Deans benefit, maybe for his own. Maybe they were both confused about their feelings toward each other because Seth would push and Dean would push back harder. It would get to the point that even Roman had to pull him aside and ask what was going on. 

“Nothing.” Dean would answer quickly and try to get away as fast as possible before the Big Dog figured out he was lying. Roman always gave him this look like he knew exactly what Dean was doing, but would let it go...for now. It was usually a nod or a grunt, but he'd let Dean move away without pressing the matter. It was one of the reasons he liked Roman. In all honesty, he probably could confide in the Samoan about his confused thoughts regarding their two-toned partner. They, at least, had formed what could be described as a pretty strong friendship over the years. It wasn't that he wasn't _friends_ with Seth, but their relation was turbulent. They'd definitely take a bullet for each other, but not let the other live it down. 

“Does everyone understand what they need to do? Regal asked them, eyes firmly fixed on Dean when he said it. They all replied with their usual, trained answer and waited for Regal to dismiss them. He didn't though, rather he asked Dean to repeat the mission points back to him. 

Dean was nothing if not a master bullshitter. It's how he lived as long as he did on the streets of Cincinnati. “Hartford, Connecticut. Infiltrate suspected Authority members circle, gain information regarding ‘plan B’, report back. It's a simple recon mission, sir.”

He could see Seth roll his eyes and he smiled a little to himself. Regal accepted that answer and dismissed them. They'd be leaving the following morning.

Seth stopped him outside the briefing room, Roman having gone to meet the date he was already late for at some swanky restaurant he was trying to impress her with. “What's your deal, man?”

“What are you talking about?”

Seth pushed him back against the wall and held him there with his hand against his chest just hard enough to keep him still. “You've been acting spacer than normal. While I don't give a rats ass about your usual bullshit, the fact that you and I are going to be going in together has me worried.”

“I'll be fine, Seth. Aren't I always?”

Seth cocked an eyebrow at him in a way that clearly read “really?”

“Ok, it was one time! They let me go after a few days! I'm still texting with a few of them.” Then he smiled fondly. “Good guys.”

“Regardless of the fact that you can talk yourself out of a life or death situation, doesn't mean I trust you to do the same for me.”

“You should.” Dean countered and that seemed to catch Seth off guard. Then Dean did the most inappropriate and best thing he'd ever done in his life. He grabbed Seth by the face and pulled him in for a kiss. Though he acted surprised, Seth made no move to pull away. In fact, he kissed Dean back.

When they separated, Dean had to laugh at the completely stupefied look on Seth's face, like Dean had just punched him in the throat. 

Maybe that wasn't a too far off comparison.

“Let's go, Sethie Poo.” He said with a satisfied grin. “We got a mission that needs its ass kicked.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has left kudos and comments! They really brighten my day! Keep'em coming :)

After scouting the area and walking in some random directions to throw off those after them, he knew he'd have to get back to Seth. They needed to find somewhere more secure to build some sort of fire because the temperature was already dropping. He'd spotted something that might work, a small alcove just high enough to keep their scent hidden and any sort of light from a fire minimally visible. Problem was going to be getting Seth up there. 

When he returned to him, Seth's head was drooping against his chest and he feared the worst. “Seth?” 

When there was no answer, his heart caught in his throat. No, this couldn't be happening. He couldn't do this alone! He needed the egotistical asshole! He _needed_ him! He was at his side shaking him immediately. “Seth? Wake the hell up! Sethie poo? Don't you do this to me!”

“I hate w-when you call me that.” It was weak and tired, but the bite was still in his voice and Dean laughed. He lifted Seth's head so he could look at him in the dim light the moon provided and decided right then and there that he didn't care about inopportune moments. He kissed Seth out of sheer relief. “But I like when you do that.”

“Don't do that to me!” Dean said, his voice cracking more than he intended it too when he pulled Seth close to his chest. “I thought you were dead.”

“You aren't rid of me yet.” Seth chuckled into his ear. 

Dean pushed him back so he could look at him. Even if Seth was trying to give him an appeasing sort of grin, the dark light did nothing to hide the paleness in his face, the way his eyes were drooping ever so slightly, or the way his hands were quivering in his lap. Seth was hurting and doing a piss poor job trying to hide it. 

“I'm gonna get you some water, then we gotta move.” 

Seth let out a disgruntled sigh. “Can't we just stay here?”

“No.” Was all Dean said, word final, and pulled the thin tank top they had given him as the only clothing he had other than the thin blue scrubs. Seth gave him an odd look, but he ignored it and went to the edge of the water. He dunked his shirt in and let it get as saturated as possible. When he returned, Seth was shaking his head.

“No, no way.”

Dean held out the waterlogged piece of clothing. “You can drink it or I can give it to you mamma bird style. Your choice.”

Seth set his jaw like he might refuse again, but the stern look Dean gave him had him giving in without much of a fuss. Seth opened his mouth and Dean squeezed some water in. Seth pulled a face and Dean grinned. “Was that so bad?”

“It taste like sweat and dirt.” Said Seth. “So like you always taste.”

Dean laughed and took some water for himself, ignoring the fact that Seth was right. When they were finished, he hoisted Seth back onto his shoulder and tried to reassure him that he'd be alright even as he tried to hold in the shouts of pain. “I found a cave.” Dean continued, pulling Seth along. “It should be fairly well hidden. We can make a fire there and I can look at the wound.”

“Alright Bear Grylls.” Seth snorted and winced. “But I'm drawing the line at drinking my own piss.”

\---

_Hartford, Connecticut_  
_Codename: Lunatic_  
_Codename: Architect_  
_June, 2011_

“Feels weird to not have Big Dog here.” Dean mused, lying back on one of the beds in this hot as fuck, piece of shit hotel room that just so happened to overlook the stupid bar that these Authority dipshits hung out. Seth made some sort of noise, but didn't say anything in response to that. He was busy with a pair of binoculars, checking who was going in and who was leaving the bar. When he finally did look back, he rolled his eyes at Dean and shook his head.

“Will you _please_ put pants on?”

Dean looked down at his boxer shorts and grinned. Ever since that kiss, Seth had been kind of prudish toward him, which was fine. It just made Dean want to try harder. However, in this case, it was meant as an effort to cool off and not seduce his half blonde partner. “It's hot as hell, Seth. Least they could have done was spring for a hotel with an air conditioner...and a flushing toilet.”

“Like you haven't stayed in worse.” Replied Seth with a snort as he turned back to his surveying. 

“Never said I didn't. Just stating the obvious.” Said Dean. “There was this one time when I was fifteen where-”

“I don't want to hear about Cincinnati again.”

Dean shook his head and laughed, prompting Seth to turn around and squint at him. “Does it hurt?”

“Does what hurt?”

“That stick up your ass.” Dean answered. “It must get uncomfortable every once in awhile.”

“You know, I really wonder sometimes why Regal chose you.”

“It's my winning personality.”

Seth snorted a laugh then got silent and Dean knew he had something on his mind. “Why'd you kiss me?”

“Why'd you kiss back?”

“I asked you first.”

Dean laid back again. “I kissed you because I like you and I wanted to. That a good enough answer?”

He liked taking Seth by surprise. He had this little moment where he would open and close his mouth a few times before setting it closed again, like his brain needed to recalibrate so that cool exterior could come back like nothing had ever happened. It made the corner of Dean's mouth lift into a tight smirk, but he'd wait for Seth to make the next move. Not that he would. He'd brush it off like he always did when things got a little uncomfortable. Sort of like now, if the way he found his binoculars infinitely more interesting than responding to Dean's confession. 

It took several minutes of tense silence for either of them to speak again. Surprisingly, it was Seth who broke the awkwardness. “That was a good enough answer, by the way.”

“What?” Dean said, not really sure he heard him correctly. 

When Seth dropped the binoculars and looked back at him, there was an unusual softness in his eyes where once was that usual look of annoyance whenever in Dean's presence. It made Dean's heart skip a beat. 

“Look, I don't want to get into any kind of deep, awkward confessions here because God knows how long we're going to be stuck in this little hotel room. But, ” He paused and worried his bottom lip between his teeth that made Dean's breath catch in his throat. “Maybe...you aren't the worst person in the world that could have kissed me.”

“That was a weird way of saying you like me, but I'll take it.” 

That irritation was back in his eyes and Dean smirked at the way he shook his head. “Way to ruin the moment, Ambrose.”

Dean just laid his head back on the bed and smiled to himself. That went far better than he could have imagined. When he'd done it, he was almost positive Seth was going to punch him in the face. When he didn't, he figured he'd scored a small victory and was prepared to wait until after this mission to bring it up. Now? Now he had at least a little bit of confirmation that Seth wasn't a complete asshole and might sorta-kinda like him back. It all felt very high school, what he remembered of it before he dropped out, like the next step might be leaving notes in lockers. It was strange to feel this way about someone. 

“Dean, put your pants on.” 

Seth's voice drew him out of his thoughts. “I told you, it's fucking hot in here.”

“No, we gotta move.” He said and was on his feet and across the room to his suitcase before Dean could even react. “The two Authority members just walked into the bar.”

Dean sat up. “Really?”

“No, I'm pulling your leg.” Replied Seth sarcastically. “Get dressed.”

Dean did just that. He pulled on the oldest pair of ratty jeans he owned and a faded hockey tee shirt. He messed up his hair - not that it took much effort - and pulled on his boots just as Seth walked out of the bathroom looking entirely out of place for the bar they were about to walk into. “What are you doing?”

Seth looked down at his far too neat skinny jeans, the crisp white button down shirt, and dress shoes. “What?”

“You can't go in there looking like that.”

“What not?”

Dean gave him a look that clearly read ‘really?’

“I look fine, Dean.”

Dean shook his head and started rummaging through Seth's suitcase. Did the man own anything other than skinny jeans? Shit, those would have to stay at least. “Take your shirt off.” 

“What? No? Why?”

“Because you look like a preppy little rich kid walking into a biker bar.” Said Dean, now rummaging through his own clothes for something appropriate. Settling on a simple black tee shirt, he threw it at Seth who caught it easily and stared at it like Dean had just thrown medical waste at him. “You're going to stand out like a sore thumb. Now take your shirt off.”

Begrudgingly, he unbuttoned the dress shirt and laid it neatly on the bed. Dean had seen Seth shirtless before, but here in this space, sweating in the heat of the room, it made his mouth go dry. He had to cough to cover it up. 

“Is that better?” Seth asked after pulling Dean's shirt on. 

“Almost.” He answered and stepped up to Seth. They were mere inches apart now and he could see the way Seth's already dark eyes seemed to get even darker as his pupils dilated. If he wanted to, Dean could have kissed him again. And he did want to. Even Seth looked like he was preparing for it. But rather than lean in like he wanted to, he pulled the hair tie free from Seth's neat bun and ruffled his hair to a more unruly texture. He stayed close when he was finished and grinned at him. “Now you look the part.”

Dean had every intention of moving away, and even started to. Hands on his hips stopped him and he looked back at Seth with curious confusion as his heart began hammering in his chest. Seth's eyes were flicking between his own and his lips as he decided just what he was going to do. Dean waited patiently for whatever was about to happen - mouth dry, heart pounding out a beat in his ears, breaths coming in deep lungfuls. Then Seth leaned in and gently brushed his soft lips against Dean's. For a moment, he wasn't quite sure what he should do, but he knew he didn't want this moment to end. When Seth pulled them closer and pressed their lips tighter together, it was as if time stopped and it was just the two of them. 

When Seth pulled back, it was like someone had restarted his brain, and his heart, as he looked into Dean's eyes. “Why'd you kiss me?”

Seth smirked. “Because I like you and I wanted to. That a good enough answer?”

“You realize, if we start something here, we can't tell anyone. It's a conflict of interest. Regal will separate us.”

“I know.” Seth replied. “I get the feeling you care less than I do.”

Dean smiled and shook his head, giving him a quick peck on the lips. “You damn right. I love me a secret rendezvous.”

Seth laughed, a genuine chuckle Dean hardly ever heard from the perpetually composed man still holding him by the waist. “You're unbelievable.”

When he let go, Dean already missed the warm pressure on his body, but there was that promise of things to come from the light squeeze before they separated.

“C’mon.” Said Seth. “We have some Authority members to shake down.”

“Oh, will there be fighting!?”

“If we're lucky!”


	8. Chapter 8

“One more step up.” Dean said, guiding his partner to the alcove he'd spotted and having a tough time getting him to cooperate. He tried to be patient, he knew Seth was in pain and doing the best he could, but sometimes a little tough love went a long way with the Architect. “Move your ass, Sethie poo. You used to be so good at the obstacle course. What happened?”

Seth glared at him. “I was fucking shot, you ass!”

“That shouldn't matter.” Said Dean. “The longer you pretend that you can't do it, the better chance they have of finding us.”

“I hate you.” Seth grunted and Dean pulled him up finally to the small rock landing that lead inside. 

“No you don't.” He said and helped Seth sit. 

It didn't take long for him to find some dry sticks and leaves to make into some sort of fire and he gathered them into a small pile surrounded by rocks found in their makeshift shelter. Problem was that Dean Ambrose was born in the middle of a large city and there weren't many opportunities to build fires without the benefit of a lighter, in the middle of a cold forest, while being hunted. It wasn't like he was a Boy Scout or anything, nor did he really pay attention when in survival training. He'd always relied on his wits and charm and that wasn't going to help him here. He knew the basics, dry kindling wouldn't smoke as much and he'd need some sort of containment, so he'd gotten that far at least.

“Do you need help?” Seth asked and he looked up at him only to see the amused grin barely hidden in the dark of the cave. This made Dean set his jaw, determined to do it on his own. Now, how had Tom Hanks done this in Castaway? 

He gathered some kindling at the end of a larger stick and used a smaller one to start building up friction. That was the key, right? Friction? It didn't help that his hands were starting to shake from the cold. Neither one of them had much protection from the elements other than what they were forced to wear before they escaped. Thin scrubs, no shoes, and tank tops didn't exactly do much to keep them warm. Plus, Dean had used his shirt for water and it was currently soaked. So now he was cold and frustrated and anxious and angry...not a good combination.

He could hear Seth chuckle at him, and the longer he went at it, the louder the laughs got until Dean had finally had enough and threw the sticks down to glare at him. “What?”

“You're doing that wrong.”

“I don't see you helping.” He snapped and went back to work even if he could still feel Seth's eyes on him. After another ten minutes of trying, his arms tired and his hands sore, he again threw the sticks down and clutched at his hair in frustration. “How the fuck can ten year olds do this and I can't!”

“You need to elevate the base and put more pressure on the down force.” Seth offered and Dean grunted. Of course Mr. Perfect knew what to do. He'd fight him on it, but he was too tired, so he just did as suggested and shifted the position of his contraption. 

It took some doing, but after about five minutes he could smell smoke. Another few minutes and his kindling caught fire. The smile that hit his face was probably so wide and triumphant that he must be a sight to see. The way Seth was smiling back confirmed that. “Yes!”

“See, sometimes it pays to listen to me.” 

He built up the fire slowly, careful not to smother it, and soon they had a source of warmth and light. Granted, it wouldn't do much to keep them comfortable, but at least they wouldn't freeze. 

Now that he had light, he needed to see Seth's wound. His own thin tank top was saturated with blood on his left side and Dean had to apologize several times when he tried to lift it free. It looked nasty, the exit wound ripping through his side had torn a nice sized hole in his flesh, leaving it still seeping blood. He'd have to clean it to get a better gauge on the damage. 

He helped Seth lay back and instructed him to turn into his side so Dean could see his back. The entrance wound was small at least and far enough over that it would have missed his spine. His kidneys on the other hand…

“How bad, Dean?”

“oh you'll be right as rain in a few days.” Dean lied, carefully guiding Seth back onto his back.

“You're a terrible liar.”

Dean drew in a breath and let it out slowly. “Ok, the damage to your back is minimal and it looks like it went straight through. The front is nasty and I can't tell if it would have hit your kidney. If it did, septic shock will probably set in fairly soon. That's if infection doesn't hit you first. I'll have to cauterize it regardless, but it's going to hurt like fuck.”

Seth was unusually silent, taking in the information and letting it mull around his head for a few seconds. “Do it.”

Dean took a deep breath and nodded. He held out a stick in front of Seth's mouth and he took it between his teeth to bite on, it would be his only defense against the pain. Using his still wet shirt, he squeezed the remaining water onto the wound to get some of the blood off. Seth jumped and hissed loudly. The hisses turned to cries of pain as Dean began gently wiping around the damage. “You have to try and stay quiet.” He said as calmly as possible. Though he did glare angrily at him, Seth nodded. 

Pulling a long stick with a flame still dancing at the end from the fire, he gave Seth a sympathetic squeeze on the arm, silently asking if he was ready. He waited for the nod.

“Ok, I'll count to three.” Dean said and Seth braced himself. “One…”

He touched the flaming wood to the wound and Seth screamed behind the stick in his mouth. He was going to be pissed about that, but it was better if Seth didn't anticipate it. A quick look at his face to see if he was still with him and Dean's heart broke just a little at the tears forming at the corner of Seth's eyes.

“Almost done.” He said and helped Seth turn over onto his side again. He relit the stick and repeated the process, this time not even bothering to count. Again Seth wailed, but it wasn't as forceful as the last time. “Done. It's done, Seth.”

“Y-you fucking son o-of a b-bitch!” He was angry, which was expected, but even at that there wasn't much behind it. He knew Dean had to do it, and he was already starting to calm down. Dean tore his shirt into long strips and used it to patch up Seth as best he could, then he helped him up before sitting next to him. 

It was the first time Dean was able to really think since they broke out a few hours ago and he didn't realize just how exhausted his mind and body actually were. He felt drained, overwhelmed, jittery, and worn out all at once. 

Then there was the matter of Roman. It hit him then what they had actually done. They had left him there for the Authority to do God knew what to him for whatever purpose. They should have stayed. They should have tried harder. They should have fought for him. But it was him or them and at least now they had a fighting chance of getting help. 

“What do you think they're doing to him?” Seth asked as if reading Dean's mind. He had a habit of doing that. 

It took everything Dean had to answer without his voice breaking, and he was failing. “I don't know.”

Seth leaned his head against Dean's shoulder and took his hand and held it tightly. “What did they do to you?”

Dean swallowed back the panic at the memory of night after night, day after day of mental and physical abuse suffered at the hands of the authority. Based on the shiver that ran through Seth, he was sure they had done the same to him. This wasn't the time to talk about it, maybe it never would be. Not with Seth. It was better suited for a therapists couch somewhere down the line, when he just couldn't handle the memory anymore. Right now he just had to push forward because what else could he do? He was the only one still physically capable. What was a few mental hang ups to add to the others?

“It's not important.” He answered Seth. “You need to rest. I'll keep watch.”

\---

_Hartford, Connecticut_   
_Codename: Lunatic_   
_Codename: Architect_   
_June, 2011_

One blow to the head, two, three, and Dean was starting to really feel it. This had all gone south pretty damn quickly. Even after Dean had fixed the way Seth looked, he forgot about his winning personality. He'd said “let me do the talking” and it was going great for a while. They'd both ordered the cheapest beer they could and sat at the bar. Luckily, there was a large mirror behind it that they could use to watch the two Authority members play pool behind them. The problem was that they were the _only_ other people there outside of the bartender (who Dean was sure was on the payroll as well). So, obviously, they were suspicious. 

It wasn't until the two men approached them did things start to go downhill. One, a tall, muscular man named Randy, grabbed Seth by the shoulder unprovoked and spun him around in the stool. Dean was on his feet immediately, some not nice words were exchanged, one thing led to another, and he was sprawled out on the pool table with the other, an even bigger guy who went by Batista, was pummeling him with his grapefruit sized fists. 

He couldn't see Seth - his one eye already swelling shut - but he could hear his ‘oofs’ every time that Randy guy hit him. He hadn't been in a bar fight in a while, never one with Seth, and neither one of them were holding their own. 

“Take ‘em in the back.” He heard, probably the bartender. Yeah, what better place to really get in a good ass kicking than away from the public that might wander in? 

Bautista grabbed Dean by the shirt and lifted him from the pool table with such little effort he might as well be a child. He manhandled him like he was nothing, maneuvering him through a set of double doors that led to the back area. He could hear Seth struggling with Randy somewhere behind him. They were forced down a set of stairs that opened up into a stone basement with kegs and boxes of beer thrown everywhere. From there, it was one more set of doors that Dean was shoved through hard. 

The cold hit him first, followed by the ground once he lost his footing, and he realized they were in a large freezer. Seth was shoved in after him and tripped over a poorly placed box only to land on Dean's back. They were both pulled up onto their knees. They would have fought back, but the guns pointing dangerously into their faces pretty much stopped that. 

“Who the fuck are you two?” Randy asked, his finger dangerously close to that trigger. 

“Tyler Black.” Seth answered unsung his alias. Smart. 

Dean followed suit, using his. “Jon Moxley.”

“They sound like fake names to me.” Bautista chuckled and fired a shot just to the left of Dean's knee, making them jump and sending cement shrapnel into the air. Apparently these two weren't fucking around and would have no problem ending the two Shield agents right then and there. “Who are you two?”

“Ok! Ok!” Seth said, frantic, and Dean immediately shot him a warning look. “I'm sorry we lied! Jesus! Guns in the face don't exactly make for the most comfortable situation.” 

Randy pressed the barrel of his pistol against Seth's temple and it took everything Dean had to stay put or risk a bullet to his own head. 

“Who. Are. You?” He asked again, dangerously slow and through gritted teeth. His patience was obviously wearing thin. 

He could see Seth's chest rising and falling as his adrenaline and anxiety rose. He was thinking, trying to formulate a believable lie in his head and taking way too long for Randy's liking. 

“Hunter Helmsley sent us!” Dean cut in quickly and all eyes snapped to him. That was probably a stupid move, but sometimes stupid moves needed to be made. It's how he survives so long as a bare knuckle fighter. 

“Why would he send anyone here?” Batista asked. 

Dean put on his best confident grin. “He _said_ we were to watch you two idiots. Said you were running your mouths about ‘Plan B’.”

Seth must have just caught on. “Yeah. He wasn't to happy about it either.”

Both Randy and Batista looked at each other, worried. 

Then Randy cocked the hammer back on his gun and Seth stiffened. “So if we were to call him...” 

“You can try.” Dean interjected quickly, drawing his attention away from Seth. “But the phrase ‘If I'm fucking disturbed, someone's getting a goddamn bullet’ were uttered pretty often.”

Batista leaned in, “Fine. You call him. And put it on speakerphone.”

He handed Dean his phone and he took it warily. Giving Seth one more look, noting the implied _be careful_ in his face, he dialed a number, Roman's number, the one that meant they were on a mission and needed help, to use their aliases. He answered after the second ring and Dean beat him to the punch. Hopefully his Hunter Helmsley impression was better than his Russian being as they only had grainy audio lifted from bugs planted in restaurants to go by.

“Mr. Helmsley? Batista and Randy here wanted me to call you to prove you sent Tyler and me to check up on them. They don't believe me.” 

There was a pause, and when Roman spoke his voice had dropped several octaves and he'd added a gravelly sound to it. _“Moxley! What did I tell you about disturbing me!”_

Well he caught on quick. “I'm sorry sir.”

_“You tell those two assholes that I will do what I want, when I want!”_

Dean looked up at Batista and smirked at the nervous jump of his Adam's apple. They were buying it. This worked out surprisingly well. 

“Mr. Helmsley, we want you to know that Plan B is well underway!” Randy said quickly, obviously trying to cover his ass. “It should be up and running in the next few months!”

_“Is it in the location I requested?”_ Roman asked. 

“Yes, sir.” Batista answered. “Pine Barrens.” 

New Jersey, huh? New Jersey would be where a secret facility was being constructed. Plus, the Pine Barrens is the largest plot of untouched forest in the Unites States, so no one would even be the wiser. 

_“Good.”_ said Roman. _“Now, you let Black and Moxley leave unharmed or they will never find your bodies. Not that anyone would miss you two idiots.”_

Dean disconnected the call without another word. Batista and Randy dropped their guns and allowed Dean and Seth to stand. It only took a nod toward the door and they were gone. That had worked out better than expected.


	9. Chapter 9

_“What is your name?”_

_“D-Dean…”_

_The pain was immediate, running through him like a thunderbolt from the diodes stuck to his temples and all the way down his chest and arms. His entire being lit up as the shocks racked through his body. He slumped in the chair when it was over._

_“What is your name?_

_“Fuck you.” He gasped between ragged breaths, voice far more labored than he would have liked to punctuate his point._

_They hit him again, every muscle stiffening against the restraints, every nerve ending on fire under the onslaught. He might have been screaming, he might not have been, he didn't know anymore. The only thing he could focus on was the pain, pain so bad he wished for the sweet relief of death. They wouldn't let him though, that was against their plan._

_“What is your name?” They were always so calm when they asked, like the hard looks and curses he spewed at them didn't faze them at all. Nameless worker bees, faceless, hidden behind their medical masks and glasses._

_“M-my name i-is go fuck y-yourself.” Broken and defiant._

_“Number 3, the longer you fight us, the longer we will hurt you.” It was clinical and cold, unfeeling with no trace of sympathy. “Is that what you want?”_

His eyes shot open and he was back in the cave. He didn't remember falling asleep. The fire was little more than embers at this point and he shivered, unsure if it was from the cold or the dream. He had to shake it off, keep moving forward. There was no time to dwell on the past few months, that was for later, when they weren't being hunted down like dogs.

Seth was still leaning against his shoulder, fingers still wrapped loosely in Deans. His head was slumped against his chest, a sheen of sweat covering his forehead. For a second, he thought he might have been dead, but the ragged rise and fall of his chest was enough to give him that sense of relief.

Gently, he removed his hand and propped Seth up and off of him, smiling at the small whimper at the loss of contact. With Seth’s warmth off of him, he realize just how cold he actually was. Shirtless and with no other source of heat, the mid November whether in New Jersey felt more like January. Even his breath came out in a puff of white and swirled around his head for a moment before finally disappearing into the air. He needed to move around or he'd cramp up. Maybe he could find some more sticks before the fire went out completely.

He peered out of the alcove first, careful to listen for the sounds of their pursuers. Met with nothing but the sound of the wind rustling the trees around him, he stepped out onto the rocks and carefully climbed down. With no shoes on, the process was slower than he'd like, but he landed on the soft, wet earth with little sound.

He didn't plan on going far, unwilling to leave Seth for long, but he could scope the area while he looked for kindling. If he could find a road or something they could get the hell out of there. Seth would protest being moved again, but it was that or both die from the cold or get captured again. All they would get was a bullet to the skull and a hasty burial in this fucking forest. How would that help anyone, including Roman?

The thought of him again sent that pang of guilt through his chest. The look on his face would be burned into Dean's memory for the rest of his life. Disappointment and anger and despair.

They'd had no choice.

_They had no choice!_

That's what he kept telling himself.

He couldn't dwell on it. Not now anyway.

It was still dark, so he had good cover to move around between the trees, picking up dry branches as he went. He kept his eyes and ears open for any sign of their pursuers, knowing they wouldn't let them just get away. Oddly enough, other than the sounds of the wind in the trees, there was nothing.

That could be a good sign or a bad sign. He doubted they would let them just get away, and he _seriously_ doubted that two barefoot men - one of which being seriously injured - could outrun trained mercenaries and dogs.

If it were him, he'd lull his targets into a false sense of security, track them quietly, then strike. If that's what was happening, they were fucked. And now that they were separated would be the perfect time to do it.

He stood up straight as a board, dropped the sticks, and ran back toward the cave. “Fuck!”

\---

 _Seth Rollins Apartment_  
_May, 2013_

“I told you not to leave any goddamn marks, Dean!” Seth squealed from the bathroom mirror where he was gently dabbing at the purplish bruises marring his neck. “I'm going to have to wear my hair down for a week.”

Dean smiled from the bed. “You loved it and you know it.”

He was smug because of course he'd done it on purpose. It was so easy to ruffle Seth’s feathers, which only made Dean want to do it over and over again. He reacted in such a flustered, uptight way, like he was surprised Dean was the way he was. Dating almost a year - in secret - and he's still shocked when Dean does the exact opposite of what he's told. Having known each other since they were 18, you'd think he'd have learned by now.

But, Seth wouldn't be Seth if he didn't complain a little. “You know I hate wearing my hair down for meetings with Regal.”

Groaning, he pulled himself from the bed and padded to the bathroom, naked. Seth had at least managed to put sweatpants on and Dean pulled at the top elastic when he came up behind him. Wrapping an arm around Seth, he kissed at the back of his neck gently. “I'm sorry. I could give you one to match on the other side. Then you'd at least be symmetrical.”

Though he turned around to glare at him, there was an amusement in his eyes that wasn't there a few seconds ago. “You're unbelievable. Next training course, I'm tripping your ass.”

“Try it, tough guy.” He answered with a sly grin and leaned in to kiss Seth. He was so easy sometimes, his hands reaching around to cup Dean's ass and give it a hard squeeze, forcing a moan. “You trying to start something, you better be prepared to finish it.”

Seth grinned. “Oh, I always finish it.”

Seth pushed Dean back against the bathroom wall and held him there by the shoulders, looking him dead in the eye with a mischievous glimmer in his own dark eyes and the shiver that ran down his spine and directly to his dick was intense. Before he could say anything, Seth's mouth was on his again, dominating and controlling every movement. He liked when Seth got this way, like he had something to prove and he was going to use every tool in his arsenal to do it.

A hand tracked down his chest and across his abs before nimble fingers wrapped around him and he gasped into Seth's mouth. The bastard had the audacity to chuckle. He stroked Dean painfully slowly, twisting his wrist just right around the head, all the while assaulting his mouth.

“Fuck, Seth…” Dean drew out in a long hiss after one particularly long upstroke. “I wanna be in you! Now!”

Seth simply grinned. “Nope, you had your fun last night. It's my turn.”

He kissed Dean one more time before turning him around and pressing his chest into the wall and holding him there with his body. He could feel the hardness under the fabric of the sweatpants pressing against his backside and another shiver trailed down his back to match the rough bites to his shoulder. Seths wandering hand again trailed south and cupped his ass cheek before giving it a quick and hard slap.

Dean yelped and groaned at the stinging pain left there, but Seth's soothing palm was already rubbing it away.

“Hang tight, sweetheart.” And the warmth of Seth was gone. He disappeared into his bedroom for a brief moment and returned with the lube. He could hear the cap open and close before a cold finger found its mark and he hissed. “Sorry.”

“It's just cold.” Dean breathed. “Keep fucking going.”

That was all the invitation Seth needed because his finger slipped in to the knuckle immediately and Dean could feel the smug smirk against his back as Seth kissed along his shoulder blades. The burn didn't last long and soon Seth was probing his enterance. He knew what he was looking for. “C’mon Sethie Poo, you can do better than th-Oh my GOD!”

He hit his sweet spot on the button and it felt as if a jolt had gone through him.

“I _hate_ when you call me that.”

That was one way to spur him on and he just kept rubbing at that spot until Dean was a panting, squirming mess of a man. The son of a bitch. A second finger was added and the stretch of his hole was almost as good as the way Seth continued to bite at his back. He barely felt the third finger.

He hated himself for whimpering when Seth pulled his fingers out, and the Architect wouldn't let him live it down for at least a week. But the disappearance of that full feeling, especially when he was so incredibly turned on it was verging on painful, was unbearable. “Seth, get in me already!”

“Stop making demands, Lunatic!” The lube made another appearance and he could hear the distinct schlick, schlick of Seth preparing his dick. There was a shuffle of fabric when he pulled his sweatpants down, and then the pressure of his cock against Dean's hole…

___knock, knock, knock_ _ _

Seth paused. “Was that the door?”

Dean tried to reach back and pull him to continue. “Ignore it. Keep going!”

 _knock_ , _knock_ “Seth? You home? Your car's outside.”

“Shit, Dean, its Roman.” Seth backed away and started frantically pulling up his pants.

Dean groaned. He'd have to have a talk with the big dog about his timing.

“Go get under the bed!” Seth demanded, shoving Dean slightly towards the bedroom.

Dean batted his arm away. “Get under the bed?! What are we? Teenagers?”

“You know he can't know. Not yet.”

“Fine.” He huffed and did as Seth instructed. “I expect one HELL of a BJ for this! There's so much dust!”

Once Dean was out of sight, Seth composed himself and straightened up.

“You may want to do something about that log in your pants.” He heard from under the bed and Dean could just barely see him frantically try to hide his erection by arranging it as best he could.

The way seths bedroom was Seth up, Dean could see directly into his living room from his hiding spot while still being unseen. He watched as Seth opened the door and greet Roman with a smile.

But the big dog wasn't smiling. “Regal sent me over here.” He said. “You and I have a recon mission and he wants to brief us ASAP.”

“A recon mission? For what?”

“I don't know yet.” Roman answered with a shrug. “All I know is that he said that Dean was not to know.”

Seth stiffened slightly but recovered quickly. “Why?”

Another shrug. “I don't know. Get dressed. We have a meeting with Regal in a half hour. I'll meet you at my jeep.”

And Roman was gone.

Seth looked back at the bedroom just as Dean climbed out from beneath the bed. He wasn't happy, and he could tell Seth wasn't either by the look on his face. “What was that about?”

“I don't know.”

Angry now, Dean searched for his clothes and began dressing. “So the black sheep of this operation finally gets cut.”

“Dean…”

“No, Seth!” He snapped, knowing it wasn't seths fault but he was there and he needed someone to vent to. “Regal has hated me from the beginning and you know it. This was only a matter of fucking time. The Golden Boy and the Big Dog, the best. I'm nothing but a Lunatic, remember?”

Seth walked over to him and tried to place a comforting hand on Dean's shoulder, which he shrugged off and put his shirt on. “Look, it might be nothing. We've gone on missions alone before.”

“Yeah, but Roman always knew about them.” He grabbed his jacket and slung it on. “I'm not to know about this, remember?”

Again he tried to calm Dean down. “You need to relax.”

“And you need to get dressed.” He sat on the bed. “Don't worry, I'll wait until you're gone to leave.”


	10. Chapter 10

He thought about calling Seth's name, thought long and hard about it, warn him somehow. That would do nothing but broadcast his position to whoever was listening. Who would that benefit? No one, and would most certainly cost them both their lives in the process. 

But the litany of _Please let me be wrong, please let me be wrong, please let me be wrong_ echoed through his head as he ran, trying to keep his footfalls as quiet as he could manage as he sped back toward the cave. 

He wasn't wrong. 

He came to a halt at the tree line that lead to the clearing just under the cave in time to see them throw Seth to the ground. Four of them surrounded his barely conscious partner, hardly able to keep his eyes focused as they got perilously close to him.

Funny thing was, Dean recognized all four of these monsters. The Wyatt family. Mercenaries for Hunter and his sick agenda. If they had been sent out, then that meant Hunter was nervous. A nervous Hunter meant bad things all around. 

The ringleader of the group, a sadistic man named Bray, stepped forward and crouched down so he could observe Seth closer. “What a poor little lamb.” He whispered, brushing hair from Seth's face. Dean wanted nothing more than to run and tackle him, knock him to the dirt and punch him over and over for even daring to lay even that gentle a hand on Seth. 

But he didn't.

He couldn't.

That would give him away and they'd both be fucked. This was Roman all over again, a decision he had to make for the greater good. At least for now. 

He watched as Seth tried to push him away, to weak to be effective, only earning him an amused little chuckle from the group. Dean had to give him credit, despite his condition he wasn't giving up. That wasn't Rollin’s style. 

“What should we do with this injured offering?” Bray continued, still gently stroking Seth's hair. “Should we put it out of it's misery or use it to find its partner?” 

Dean's hands were balled into fists so tight he knew his palms had to be bleeding from his nails digging in. The fact that they hadn't referred to Seth as a human but as an “it” was really starting to piss Dean off. It was bad enough that they'd been told they were nothing but numbers for months now.

“H-he's dead.” He heard Seth squeak out, barely audible even in this quiet forest. Seth was trying to protect him, even now when all hope was probably lost. 

Bray tisked Seth and grabbed him by the hair, wrenching his head up awkwardly. It took everything Dean had not to move. “That's not true, is it? I bet he's out in the trees somewhere trying to find help for you, little lamb. Might even be watching us right now.”

Dean froze up just as a hand clamped down on his bare shoulder hard enough to bruise and the hard edge of a blade pressed against the soft skin of his throat. “Hi _Dean_.”

Randy Orton. 

How had he not seen him? How could he not have heard I'm approach? 

Fuck!

FUCK!

_FUCK!_!

What else could he do? When Randy pushed him forward, he went, trudging awkwardly until he stood in the clearing with everyone else. Bray and his band of miscreants laughed at him while Rzandy shoved him to his knees hard in the dirt, knife still precariously held against his skin.

“Ah, the wolf has joined the party.” Bray said, standing and spreading his arms wide as if he might just embrace him. Dean merely glared at him, unable to do much more than that with the knife at his throat. “Come to join your wounded lamb?”

“Fuck you.” Dean said, earning a shove from Randy that jostled the knife at his throat enough for a small cut to be made. He felt the blood trickling down his neck to his chest.

Bray stalked closer to him and observed him like some sort of specimen he wasn't sure needed to be destroyed or not. Then a wide grin spread across his bearded face and Dean felt a shiver run down his spine. “The wolf still has some bite left. That's good, shows strength and bravery. Though, I fear it's completely useless at this point. The wolf and the lamb destroyed together in one last glorious blaze of-”

“Cut the horse shit rhetoric, Bray!” Dean finally snapped. “Let him go and take me back.”

“D-Dean...no…” Seth muttered, panicked. 

“Shut up, Seth!” He shot back at him. Maybe if they just took him, Seth could get free, find a way out. He was strong and had lasted this long. It was enough of a long shot for Dean to risk everything. For Seth. “He's useless anyway. Hunter doesn't want broken things, right?”

“You misunderstand what is required of me, wolf.” Said Bray, low and dangerous, a hand finding its way into Dean's hair to make him look him in the eye.

“I have a name.” Dean gritted out, hands wrapped around Brays wrist to try and relieve some of the pressure on his scalp while the knife remained against his throat. 

“I don't care what your name is.” Chuckled Bray. “To them, you're a number. To me? Well, to me you're nothing but a tally on my wall, _wolf_.”

Suddenly, and without any warning, an arm wrapped around Brays throat and pulled back, sending him off balance and onto his back. Seth had somehow managed to gather enough energy to fight back, even that little bit. It was enough of a distraction for Dean to grab a hold of Randy's wrist and bite down hard enough on his forearm to taste blood. As soon as Randy dropped the knife, Dean snatched it from the ground and plunged it into his chest. He fell like a stone.

The following fight was a blur of punches, tackles, and kicks. He didn't know how he did it, but Dean managed to kill two of them with the knife before he was stopped by Bray and the last of his men when they had Seth on his knees with a gun pointed directly to his temple. “That's enough!”

Dean wasn't sure what to do. 

“Drop the knife.” Bray demanded and Dean complied, mouthing an apology to Seth as he did so. “Get on your knees.”

Again he did as he was told, dropping to his knees in the dirt. 

“Now, wolf, I'm going to shoot the lamb right in front of you.” Bray sneered, pressing the gun harder into Seth's temple. “Then, I'm going to skin you. Slowly. Peel the flesh right off your bone while -”

The movement was so quick Dean wasn't even sure what happened until both men laid dead on the forest floor. Seth shifted his head back, forcing bray to fire, which hit his mans foot. Using that, he leveraged the gun from Wyatt's hand and fired up into the henchman's neck. Then he turned the gun on Bray and fired. 

Dean stared at the body in shock, then slowly his eyes rose to Seths. He was deathly pale and breathing heavy with the gun held weakly in his hand. A fresh bloom of blood was beginning to seep through his shirt and Dean knew this had taken a hefty toll on him. 

Seth held out the gun to dean after a minute of silence between them. “Y-you should t-take this.”

Dean made his way over to his friend, his lover, and crouched down in front of him. Closer now, he could see the sickening color of his skin, the unfocused eyes looking at him, the pain etched in every line on his face. Dean took the gun gently and placed it on the ground. “Seth? Are you alright?”

“I-I'm fine…” he answered, labored and ragged.

“You saved my life.” 

A weak grin lifted the corner of Seth's mouth a split second before his eyes rolled back into his head and he fell forward into Dean's arms. 

He was still breathing, so that was something of a win.

\---

_Shield Headquarters_  
January 2014

One punch to the bag followed by another, and another, and another, absolutely nothing to calm that aggravated itch under his skin. Months. It had been _months_ since he heard from Seth. Not even a peep of chatter on the spy networks he'd created over the years. 

Nothing.

It was like Seth Rollins and Roman Reigns had fallen off the face of the earth. 

Another hard punch, but the give of the bag was nothing compared to how it would feel pinching William Regal in the face. That's because, not only did he refuse to give Dean any information on his partners, but he also grounded him. Dean Ambrose had had no missions since Seth and Roman left.

“You keep hitting that hag like that and you're going to poke a hole in it.” 

He didn't bother turning around, but rather gritted his teeth and hit the bag again. Regals accent was pretty distinctive anyway. “Maybe that's the point, _sir_.”

His CO took a deep breath and let it out slowly, obviously annoyed. “Ambrose, you really should stop sulking.”

“Sulking?!” He swiveled around after one more hard left jab and eyes Regal with as incredulous a look as he could manage. “You think I'm _sulking_?!”

Regal just eyed him, nose turned up like he hated that he was forced to be in Dean's presence. “What would you call it?”

“Being pissed off!”

“Dean, I know these past few months have been hard on you.” Regal sighed and folded his arms behind his back. 

Dean snorted. “Understatement. I don't understand why you won't just fire me.”

“Same reason you won't just quit.” Answered regal, an uncharacteristic grin beginning to form at the corners of his mouth. Then, after a breath he moved a few steps closer. “Dean, I know you think I did this to punish you. However, the truth is that I need you for something special, something I know _you_ and not your partners are more suited for. In order to do that, I needed to distance you from them.”

Again Dean snorted, not really buying what he was being told. He shook his head and began unwrapping the tape around his hands, just so ready to leave. 

Regals voice was sharp when he spoke. “You will listen to me Dean! I know it's hard for you to deal with any authority figure, but you _will_ listen.”

Dean set his jaw, but stood quietly and eyed Regal. 

“Good.” Said the CO, far more composed. “Word of an Authority cell in Philadelphia has been chattering across our lines. I need someone to infiltrate their little club and get as much information as they can on the Plan B initiative.”

“And, let me guess, I'm the one going in? Alone?”

Regal nodded. “Unfortunately, yes. I need you to adopt the Jon Moxley persona and get accepted into their group.” 

“How am I supposed to do that?”

There was that grin again. “They've started a bare knuckle boxing syndicate; a way of making extra money for the organization. I believe you're very familiar with the inner workings of the underground fights?”

Dean just sort of stared at his commanding officer in disbelief. “You want me to go undercover as a fighter?”

“Yes.”

“What about Seth and Roman?” He asked, suddenly feeling the urge to ask again. 

Regal just turned on his heels and walked away. “That's classified.”

Dean growled and punched the bag again, this time sending it off its hook and to the floor.


End file.
